


Happiness hit him like a bullet in the back

by 1000lux



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Bad Cooking, Flint's inner turmoil, Happy Ending, M/M, Season 1, Spanish Man o' war, billy being sweet and awkward, but there are serious parts too, fake boyfriends, more on the cracky side, much love for silver, prompt-fill, silver's past, solomon little, switching POVs, the urca gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000lux/pseuds/1000lux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"What?" Silver looks at Flint nonplussed. What's he done wrong this time? Actually, he's done next to nothing in the last two hours. At all. Pretending to peel potatoes can't possibly count.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>"Don't you think it would be more believable that I sleep in the same room with the man who I seemingly love enough to forgive him the theft of the very thing that's to secure our all future?"</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>We're in season 1 and the crew found out that Silver stole the Urca schedule. Of course the next logical step, to securing Silver stays alive until they've actually found the Urca, is for Flint and Silver to pretend to be lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness hit him like a bullet in the back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andrea_deer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrea_deer/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [andrea_deer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrea_deer/pseuds/andrea_deer) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything! Neither characters or story from the TV series!
> 
> It's the first prompt-fill I've ever done, so I'm super excited.
> 
>  
> 
> [Full prompt](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016/prompts/545878)
> 
>  
> 
> I read this prompt and thought, there's no way this could possibly work with Black Sails, and before I knew it I'd already spent three hours writing on it.
> 
> I don't know if it's what you had hoped for. I'm afraid there's not nearly as much angst as you wished for, but it always turned our rather light and happy most times.
> 
> ~
> 
> Also, this story was vividly inspired by the incorrectblacksailsquotes on tumblr.

****

I'm not calling you a liar,  
Just don't lie to me  
I'm not calling you a thief,  
Just don't steal from me

(Florence & The Machine - I'm not calling you a liar)

****

"Not that I'm not still totally onboard with keeping me alive, but how exactly are we going to explain this to your crew?" Silver asks, sounding again completely reasonable, as he always does.

"We'll think of something."

"Well, we'd better think quick, because I strongly suspect our friends out there are just readying the noose."

Gates looks between the two of them, giving close scrutiny to Silver.

"Well, if the men were to know that you have a special claim on him." He shrugs. "No, one's going to deny a man his needs."

Flint actually smiles at that, a real fullblown smile, turning into a bubbling laugh. The first one Silver's ever seen on him. "Yes, let's do that." He says, still chuckling. "We should totally do that."

Gates just stands there perfectly unperturbed, patiently waiting for reality to settle in.

"You're serious about this."

"It's not unheard of."

Silver looks between the two men, feeling for a moment like he's lost track of the direction of this conversation.

"You mean...me and?" His fingers point between him and Flint. "Like..." He's one-hundred-percent sure Flint's not going to go with that.

"Alright, fine. We'll do it." Flint slams his log-book shut and stands from his chair.

"We're–?" Silver blinks and then puts on his best semi-confused smile. "Beg pardon?"

Flint seems to feel personally affronted by that question, as he snarls, "Would you prefer to die?"

"No! Why– Of course, we'll do it. Absolutely." Silver quickly, innerly regroups and then turns to Flint with new resolve. "So, are we playing this from the sex angle, or more enternal love?" 

On the death glare Flint shoots him, he only receives one of Silver's wide, unassuming, I've-done-no-wrong smiles. And Flint seriously reconsiders his life-choices.

"Alright," Silver calls after him, as Flint makes for the exit of his cabin. "we'll just make it up as we go."

*

"He's my lover."

It's not conviction that Flint's declaration is lacking. Silver doubts the man's done anything in his life without conviction. To say that Flint conveys any warm feelings in his words, though... If there's passion in it, probably only the passionate urge to inflict harm. Even though this time, the crew will most likely assume it's directed towards anyone who intends his beloved any harm.

"You don't have to like him. You don't have to trust him. It is entirely sufficient that you trust that I know what I'm doing. And I want it to be very clear," Flint pauses, looking into the crowd. "that anyone who takes it into his mind to settle any accounts with Mr. Silver, will have to deal with me personally. I would consider it a violation of my trust, my command and my property."

Dead silence has fallen over the ship, every man on it adequately cowed.

*

"What?" Silver looks at Flint nonplussed. What's he done wrong this time? Actually, he's done next to nothing in the last two hours. At all. Pretending to peel potatoes can't possibly count.

Flint only gives him a stiff incline of his head.

Silver is about to make his exasperation known, when Flint finally decides to resort to words. Clipped, heavily sarcastic words.

"Don't you think it would be more believable that I sleep in the same room with the man who I seemingly love enough to forgive him the theft of the very thing that's to secure our all future?"

 

Silver looks between the bed and Flint. "Do you–"

"You'll sleep on the floor." Flint grinds out.

"Why do you sleep on the ship anyway, while we're still in the harbor? I mean, the others say you have a woman who lives in-country."

"That's really none of your business."

 

Flint is awoken by a curse and a clonk as something hits his bedframe.

"Jesus–" Silver's voice sounds from below the bed.

As Flint lights a candle, the man himself comes into view. Seemingly, due to the storm raging along the coast, a particular heavy wave must have hit the ship, resulting in Silver rolling across the floor, colliding with the bedframe.  
Silver looks up through mussed curls, a mixture between exasperated and sleepy, laced with accusation. Then a dangerous glint lights up his eyes, and Flint wishes he could preempt this by just dousing the candle. But he knows, Silver's voice is something very, very hard to ignore.

"You know," Silver starts. And Flint knows he's only stopping to further Flint's attention. "If I have bruises tomorrow, the crew will think you're into some kinky stuff."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Flint settles on the furthest side of the bed, signaling for Silver to take the newly freed spot. The man really has no shame, Flint thinks, as Silver eagerly climbs into bed beside him. He doesn't seem to care what the entire crew thinks they're doing in here, doesn't seem perturbed by that image at all. He has no idea what this knowledge, even the impression of it can destroy. The lifes it can destroy. He has no idea at all. That's why he can lie here at ease, while Flint can't even begin to try and find some sleep. Lying there with the futile attempt of having as little of their bodies as possible touch.

"As you might smell, I do actually take care of my hygene." Silver's voice sounds through the darkness. "In reference to some of my fellow ship-mates I see why you might have reservations about that, but I can assure you, you won't catch lice or anything from me, so you don't have to try and become one with the wall. It's kind of insulting actually, I'm not a leper, you can relax. I appreciate it by the way, you letting me share your bed. Even though it's only due to your fear of becoming known as some sex-fiend. But rest assured, now people will only think we're doing in here exactly what the bible wants us to do. Or well, exactly what the bible doesn't want us to do."

"Have you ever actually read the bible?!" Flint hisses. What does he think he's doing, joking about this, here with him. He has no idea what Flint's position on this matter might be, has no idea how offended he might get. But then again, they're among pirates. But Silver hasn't been for a very long time. Has he been that nonchalant while he was still on his merchant ship? Flint doubts it.

"As a matter of fact I have. Not my first choice of reading material, but you know how it gets on the sea, when the only two books the captain has are the bible and the log book and he has problems reading either of them. But, sure, I know the gist of it. Back at the St. John's Home for Poor Orphan Boys– Which brings me to the question if there is also a home for rich orphan boys, or if they just added that part for redundancy– Anyway, the pastor would like to cite that particular line to us, not that we were at an age where we'd have had any capacity to indulge in the referred-to sin, even if we had had the inclination to do so. Well, the older boys did so, from time to time. Anyway, something along the lines of 'a man who lies with a man like he would with a woman, shall inherit no kingdom', or something. Even though it would make a lot more sense if it would go 'a man who lies with a man, can inherit a kingdom, but might have no heirs.'"

"...What?"

"Well, I mean, logically speaking."

"Does it mean anything to you at all? How can you be this indifferent to something like that?"

"Hath they not eyes? Hath they not hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons as any other Christian is?"

"You've read the Merchant of Venice?"

"Well, from time to time I've come upon a slightly larger abundance of literary material."

*

"Captain, we–" Billy stops dead in track as he comes upon Flint and Silver sleeping in the same bed. "I– Um... I can come back later."

Flint considers just kicking Silver out of the bed, but that would really send some mixed signals to the crew. Then he makes the mistake of actually looking at Silver, who for once doesn't look sharp as a tack, but actually sleep-muddled, staring at Flint through bleary, blue eyes, like for once he doesn't know what's going on and might be just as surprised to find Flint in his bed. Which brings Flint to the unbidden thought of when the last time was that he actually woke up beside someone. Not the nights with Miranda, when either she would get up in the morning leaving him behind to spend the morning with a cup of tea and her own demons, or he wouldn't be able to sleep at all and would sit beside the bed and read into the early morning hours, until she would wake up to watch him with reproachful eyes and worry. No, the last time he woke up with a warm body flush against his side, limbs entangled with his own. The last time he actually slept well into the morning hours without dark dreams of chances and hopes long gone by, chasing away the much needed but seldom received oblivion of sleep. –Wait, did that fuck just put a leg over his thigh?

Blue eyes sparkle at him over a wide innocuous smile.

His intention to kill Silver battling his urge to kiss him (that being the most innocuous thing he actually dares to voice, even in his mind) are cut short by the crash of Billy colliding with a chair, on his quest to flee the room as fast as possible.

"So-sorry. I'm–" He rips a cup of ale off the table with his ellbow. "I'll clean this up... later."

The moment the door closes everything goes really fast. Silver's so quickly lifted himself over Flint that he's not even got a chance to grab him and inflict bodily harm, his reflexes somewhat paralysed by the fact that Silver's path to escape led across Flint's lap. Which brings him to the question how the fuck Silver got to that side of the bed when he was still on the other side when they fell asleep?

*

"You know what we do with thieves."

Silver finds himself in less than ideal circumstances, with the three crew members blocking every way of escape for him.

"You really don't want to go against Flint. Trust me. You don't."

"Well, he ain't here, is he?"

No, he most certainly isn't and so is no one else, except those guys who are seemingly willing to forfeit their own lifes over angering Flint.

"Whoa!" Silver puts up his hands, as one of them pulls out a knife. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

He finds himself in the dirt, his jaw throbbing like mad, blood on his tongue. But luckily none of this inflicted by a knife. His quick thinking of how to get himself out of this mess again, is brought to a quick stop.

"What the fuck is going on here?!" Flint steps between Silver and the three men, uncaring of either the knifes or their number.

"Captain... We–"

Silver has to really question these men's reason, given that this man was covered in another man's blood (who he'd just beaten to death) only a few days ago. Which brings him to the fairly valid question what the fuck he is thinking, baiting this man as he does. But, well, when he sees an opportunity, he takes it. And, even though, he's not gotten into this situation out of his own volition, he can't turn down the chance now, when he knows he'll never again get close enough to this man, to crack his secrets. And secrets are there, in abundance.

"I think, I made myself clear." Flint's voice cuts through the air and even Silver feels himself wincing at it.

"We– this is never going to happen again! We–" When Flint cuts the first man's throat, the other two take their chances and try to attack him. Which turns out to be a fatal mistake, as they are only standing for a few more moments. Silver just remains sitting on the ground, where he's fallen. Watching with dread and fascination as the men are butchered.

Flint turns to him, once he's finished. And Silver feels the need to apologize, despite this not having been his fault.

"Get up!" Flint orders and Silver is quick to comply.

The close scrutiny Flint puts him under in unnerving. Then Flint takes out a handkerchief and presses it to Silver's split lip, index and thumb holding his chin on the side, that isn't rapidly starting to swell. The gesture is unexpectedly tender and even the close scrutiny of his face, despite keeping the dark expression, is caring in it's own way. Silver feels himself unwillingly affected by it.

"Was that necessary?" Silver asks.

The hankerchief withdraws, Flint's expression souring further.

"I can't say one thing and do another. I have to stand by my word. They wanted to take it up with me. They did."

Which makes Silver wonder what that means for him. Eleanor Guthrie's assertions of his safety mean probably nothing in the long run. Maybe there's still time to get off this ship, so to speak. How do they say, before you play, be sure of three things: The rules, the stakes and the quitting time. But Silver was never one to quit a profitable game and, then, the rules never applied to him either.

*

Flint feels his eyes on him, during dinner, through the rows of the other men, while Silver pretends to do some actual cooking, all the time he feels his eyes. He saw fear there that day. But now he sees mostly curiosity. And something dark. There's always something dark and malicious about Silver's curiosity. Something he can't quite hide under the careless, sunny attitude, at least not to Flint. Flint realises that he knows absolutely nothing about Silver. Nothing at all. Except maybe that he was at the St. John's Home for Orphan Boys. Even though that might have been a lie too. But then again, how can you ever be sure about anything anyone tells you. He knows that John Silver is a very good liar, has an astoundingly good memory, and it's hard to assess which of his skills is more lacking, cooking or fighting. And then there's that little piece of information Flint's gotten the first night, which he assumes to be the truth, because Silver has no reason to humor him there, he has no way of knowing about Flint, about his past. And that this piece of information should mellow him a little towards his new cook, that is really unacceptable and pathetic.

*

"I met Billy today. He could barely look me in the eye." Silver tells him cheerfully when they retire for the night. "Which is really funny, because in the beginning, he was all aloof and derogatory. I bet Gates' getting an earful."

"Could you shut up?"

"Oh, you're asking me. That's some progress there."

"Would you prefer I gag you, tie you up and store you in the wardrobe?"

"Billy would get a heart attack should he find me like that."

"Why is that even funny to you? Is there anything you care for at all?"

"Oh, I care for a lot of things. Besides myself mostly shiny things. But other people's opinion about me sure as fuck doesn't count among them. And I would have thought, given your profession, you don't either."

"I doubt there's anyone who doesn't care about the picture he presents to others. Especially a pirate."

"Guy, named Solomon Little, at the St. John's once told me, people will judge you enough, no matter what you do or don't do, why the fuck should you judge yourself on top of it, when everyone else will be doing it for you. Everyone's just trying to make it by, why make it harder than necessary. Live and let live."

*

Flint has a dream that night. Him and Thomas are sitting in the salon again.

Thomas gives him a pocket watch. He opens it and looks at the engraving.

'Know no shame'

Flint looks at the gleeming surface.

"It's beautiful."

"It's silver." Thomas tells him.

*

He hears the men talk. Of course he does. Even though no one would dare as soon as they believe him in earshot.

"Do you think it's just a sex-thing?"

"He looks good enough, I guess. I mean, nothing I'd go for."

"You wouldn't even go for other women besides Charlotte."

"Nah, I don't think this is just fucking. Have you seen the looks the Captain throws him?"

"You mean like he wants to kill him?"

"Me wife used to shoot me just the same looks before we got married. Mark my words."

Raucous laughter.

"Hey, maybe it'll be good for all of us, mellow the cap'n down a lil' bit. God knows, we could all use it."

General assent on that.

"You know, I think it's good for him." There's a voice Flint hadn't expected among these gossipers. "He always had something forlorn in his eyes."

Oh, for fuck's sake, Billy!

*

"I told the men to keep this whole thing low-key. So, naturally, all of Nassau knows." Gates shrugs with the pretense of rue.

"You enjoy this, don't you?" Flint glares at Gates accusatory.

"No, why would I?" Gates smiles broadly at him.

*

Silver has the audacity to already wait in his bed this time. He's even helped himself to one of his books, which he's currently intently reading.

Flint snatches the book out of his hands.

Silver is pulled off the bed and practically pushed into the wall.

"I might have to accept you in my bed, currently. But in my head you are not welcome."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Silver states pointedly.

Flint's mouth curls in distaste.

"Trying to lure me into conversations. Pretending that we have some common ground. Now you're even rifling through my stuff. Let's make this clear: There is no place here for you. Not in this crew and sure as hell not in this room."

"You're paranoid. I was just bored–"

One side of Flint's mouth turns up in a nasty sneer.

"That's the even worse variant. You don't fucking care at all, you just pick into other peoples life to entertain yourself for a little while."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm sure as hell not going to listen to you judge me, of all people. Fine, you want your precious safe brooding zone, I'll sleep in the kitchen." Silver throws up his hands in disgust.

"You're not going fucking anywhere!" Flint snarls, before Silver is grabbed by the front of his shirt and hurled onto the bed.

Silver looks at him stunned for a moment.

"Al-right. Now we're exactly where we started. What point exactly were you trying to make?"

"Don't touch my stuff."

"Mea culpa." Silver rolls his eyes.

*

There's a bad current in the air. Everyone feels it. The crew knows better than to engage the Captain or even whisper the name 'Silver'. And is it possible? Does the food taste even worse than usual? And that was only breakfast.

"You know he should just fucking screw–" Two other crew members simulatinously clamp their hands shut over Logan's mouth, throwing panicked glances over their shoulders.

 

Silver is furiously stirring some tough substance that Flint doesn't even want to know what it is, despite the entire crew having to eat it later.

"What I don't get," Silver starts, after having steadfastly ignored him for all of thirty seconds. "is why the hell you're so fucking pissed off about all of this! I mean it's not like it was my idea." Silver pushes one of the strands of his long, black curls back, with an exasperated huff. And Flint wants to punch him for the way his hair falls into his face and his collarbone is visible where the topmost lacings of his shirt are undone. "And I can't put my finger to it. I don't think it can be that you're actually offended by my attitude, unless you value gold a lot more than you despise sodomy. And even then, you agreed a little bit too fast to the scheme. You're maybe feeling a bit uncomfortable around the crew because of this, but seriously they're far too scared of you and even then they wouldn't give two shits. Considering that one of them fucks the goat while you're under way, as Randall informs me, I'd say they have not really a leg to stand on. And, even considering that I'm usually really charming, I've accepted that you find me rather irritating, but irritating enough to warrant this kind of a tamper tantrum? Seriously, we're both grown-ups who are in it for the gold. So, why the fuck don't you put on your big-boy pants and get over it?!"

"You shit!"

"No," Silver accusingly points the whisk at him, spraying little droplets of what Flint at least assumes to be food, over him. "YOU shit!"

"Jesus Christ," Flint finally can't take it anylonger and takes the bowl from Silver's hands. "what the fuck are you even trying to do there?"

"Well, it's obviously mashed potatoes!"

"You are aware that potatoes go into that?"

Silver seems ready to hit him with the whisk by now and somehow that absolutely makes Flint's day.

"There are potatoes in there and, yes, I cooked them."

"Over an open fire?" Flint can't contain a smirk anylonger. And having to contain a smile is not one of his usual problems, which is probably why he has such problems with it right now.

"It's mashed-potatoes, even I can do that. You cook potatoes, you mash them, you put some flour in it–"

"What gave you the idea that flour goes in this? Also, I'm pretty sure you used natron."

"Oh, come on, I would have realised if– What exactly does natron look like?"

*

"Where the fuck did you learn Latin?"

Silver opens his eyes again, already having been half asleep. Not that there's much to see in the darkness.

"Excuse me?"

"Mea culpa," Flint says, half-accussingly. "That's what you said the other day. Unless, you just babbled something you had no idea what it meant, which doesn't sound like you at all, you know at least a few words Latin. You know how to read and write. You're too wellspoken. Too wellspoken for someone of your social standing."

"Sorry, but that's the pot calling the cattle black."

"I know how I know it. Now, I want to know why you know it."

"Oh, do you now? Are we trading in secrets? How about you tell me one of yours, then?"

"You're not the one making demands here."

"Fine, it's not like it's the highly guarded key to my dark past. Actually, none of my past is. Not like someone else's. Which probably only means one thing: You're ashamed of it. Because your life was super boring."

Flint gives him an undecipherable look, which doesn't tell Silver whether he's nailed it or whether he said something super offensive.

"Alright, alright. I joined a monastery for two years, when I was fourteen. Thought it might be a good idea to learn how to read and write for free. Never again read that much in my life. Never boozed that much, either. That's where I learned Spanish, too. Convento de San Agustín, La Habana. Actually a mendicant order, but let's say, they didn't take it quite that serious. I never got past the novitiate though, but really doing that to my hair would have been blasphemy."

Flint is silent for a long time after that.

"You lived at a monastery and you don't know how to cook?"

"But I brew a mean beer, if you ever run low."

*

"Do you know why the men have such a problem with you?"

"I have an idea, but, please, I'm dying to hear your two pence on it."

"You just always act like a real asshole and are so fucking depressing to be around."

"I think it's more that they are scared shitless of me." Flint smiles mildly. At this point he isn't even surprised about the shit Silver seems to sprout every minute of his day. Just like he's not even asking him why he's thinking he's allowed to walk into his cabin in the middle of the day and interrupt his very important work. When, for all Flint knows, he should be busy fixing lunch. But, that's maybe a blessing in disguise.

"If you at least pretended you give a shit about them, that would go a long way. And also, I don't buy the asshole routine. You just don't pull it off convincingly. I've known my fare share of mean fuckers. Not one of them was even half as miserable as you seem most of the time. You know why? Because they didn't give two shits. You on the other hand... You seem in constant agony. It's your entire attitude, like, oh, the world is a dark and hopeless place and all people are at their core evil. I mean, sure, most of them are. But what kind of life are you living if that's what you focus on? I mean, what kind of dreadful and pitiful existence could that be?"

"I'll warn you only once. You would do good to remember that we are only playing lovers, I have absolutely no, nor will I ever have, emotional attachment to you and there's only so much I'll take until I take the relative insecurity of torturing the rest of the schedule out of you over listening one second longer to the infamies you feel yourself entitled to."

"What I find interesting about you is, that through all this you've always used the term 'lovers', when there's really an abundance of other words to describe any such union of mutual benefit, necessity or in the fewest cases affection. Which makes me come to the believe that at heart, you're actually a romantic. You say the mysterious lady is not your lover and I believe you. In that case, I don't think you're alone because you want to be. Because you have a pitch black heart and not the capacity nor the need for love, as you'd like all of us and maybe yourself to believe. I think, you're alone because you've found no one who's come close enough to that romantic ideal of love you're imagining."

Billy walks in on them with Flint having Silver pressed against the wall, ready to punch or strangle him. Not an ideal situation for Silver and certainly not the image they're trying to convey. So Silver takes it onto himself to salvage the situation for both of them. He pulls Flint forward into a kiss.

Silver notes, that this time Billy doesn't actually leave but looks at them with a somewhat bewildered curiousity. 

When Billy's finally backed out of the room again, Flint flings Silver away like he's contagious.

"That– Ow!" Silver rubs his head where it's connected with the chair. "That was completely uncalled for!"

Flint whips around, finger pointed at Silver like he'd prefer it were a blade. "THAT was uncalled for! For whatever reason you believe yourself in the postion to take these kind of liberties–"

"Excuse me, to my recollection I was playing along with the plan we had both decided upon. Which as I may remind you wasn't exactly my personal wish come true either."

Flint looks like he's been punched, Silver can't be begin to fathom why though.

*

"Where are you going?" 

"I thought we'd established that that's none of your business."

"You're not leaving me here!"

Flint rolls his eyes. "Nothing's going to happen to you. Not after what happened to the last ones."

"Well, I'll take your word on it. Or more precisely, I won't. The fuck I will stay here alone with them, so they can fucking maul me and then blame it on an unfortunate accident once you're back."

"Alright." Flint concedes, after what Silver assumes a silent appeal to the Lord. "But if I become aware of even a hint of your presence, I will be the one informing the men about that unfortunate accident you were talking about."

 

They stop in front of a large house far into the countryside. Inside there's still faint light shining through the window panes.

"You won't talk to her, you won't look at her, you won't engage her in any way."

"What if she were in need of medical attention?"

"You are going to be in need of medical attention!"

 

"James, you're late, I didn't expect– Oh, who's your friend?"

"He's absolutely no one."

Silver nods at her jovially.

"I'm sure he's not no one if you bring him here." She smiles at Flint encouragingly.

Flint seems to be grasping for words.

"By a series of unfortunate incidents I found myself in need of a change of scenery and so I came to impose myself on your hospitality tonight." Silver intercepts with a radiant smile.

"Unfortunate sums up our entire relationship." Flint mutters under his breath.

"You're by no means imposing yourself. Come in, make yourself at home. I'll get some tea."

Silver catches the looks Mrs. Barlow throws Flint, but he can't seem to place them. Yet. They'll be here for a while. But one thing he can say for sure, they're not lovers. Even though he concedes Flint a certain animosity towards public displays of affection, their whole body language is not that of lovers. If he had to guess, he'd probably settle for family. A sister?

 

Silver walks the house at night, once he deems the other two sufficiently occupied, judging from the noises. Hers at least. Not a sister then. He wanders through the rooms until he reaches an unoccupied bedroom with a large bookshelf. He takes a peek into those books whose lack of dust indicates recent use. 'La Gallatea', 'The Merchant of Venice', 'Epictetus, Discourses', 'Marcus Aurelius, Meditations'–

Oh.

'James  
My truest love  
Know no shame  
T.H.'

Well, well, well.

Miranda Thelma Henrietta Barlow? Hardly. He's always been fond of a good puzzle. Be it broken pottery or, the very few times where he could indulge it, real puzzles (one taken during a cat-burglary out of sentimentality, well, the kid inside you never dies). And of course people, the most rewarding puzzles of all, which often form the most gruesome images.

By the sounds of it, they are both asleep now and the night is still young. He might dare to peek a little deeper. Gently he places the book where he found it.

It doesn't take that much searching at all. While the search was rather anticlimatic, the finding on the other hand is more than he could have wished for. An oil paiting of an aristocratic couple. Probably from England. So far so boring. 

The first jolt of excitement hits him when he recognizes the woman. Mrs. Barlow.

But far more interesting is her husband. Not that his face is anything Silver would recognize, no. Well, for a tiny second after recongnizing Mrs. Barlow, he'd entertained the idea of her and Flint being a runaway English Lord and Lady, but no. Even better. It's not the face that gives him the long needed answers but the name, written at the bottom of the canvas.

Lord Thomas Hamilton.

God, he's been so stupid. When he's usually so good at reading people. But with Flint he never saw it coming. But, yeah, of course that explains a lot.

There's a sound in the doorway. Silver jerks around. It is Mrs. Barlow or as he now knows Lady Hamilton.

"Mrs. Barlow." He half scrambles off the floor, half tries to seem innocuous.

"Shh. We don't want to wake James." She sits down with him on the floor, not at all perturbed to find him rummaging through her stuff, unlike another someone he knows.

"He cares for you."

"Oh, well." Silver smiles lop-sidedly. Well, it depends, he guesses, on how you define care.

"He does." She confirms serenely. "He wouldn't have brought you here otherwise. No matter what the circumstances might have been. Not without you bleeding from several at least potentially lethal wounds."

Good God.

"What became of Thomas?" He dares a step into the dark.

"Of course," She sighs, as he's seen resigned mothers do at their children often enough. "He wouldn't have told you. He hardly talks to me about him. James wouldn't dare to present a new lover before me. Afraid he'd be tainting the image and memory of Thomas. But the truth is I've been hoping for him to find someone for years now. Maybe now I'll finally be able to move on too. Me and James we are not good for each other. Not when it's just the two of us. Neither can let go of the pain we share. Neither of us can remember the good memories we have to look back to, as long as we refuse to make new ones."

"He is dead then?"

"He is." Miranda nods, old pain creeping over the casual appearance of calm contentment she's worn all evening. "He has been for ten years now. And still neither me nor James have been able to bury him. Have not been able to mourn him. For ten years we have been waiting. Nothing but waiting. Living in limbo." Very softly she adds, "If you can call it living." She lowers her gaze, for the first time since he's met her. "Oh God." She has tears in her eyes when she looks up again. "It's been so long that I've been waiting for someone to share these thoughts with."

"It's not easy talking to him. I learned that too."

She smiles at him, forced, getting her emotions under control again.

"I know what you mean, though. For the past two years, I've been working on a ship. I don't like ships, I should probably mention. Not the sea either. It's not good work. Certainly no prospects. Good enough for some. They live in the monotony, accept it as their life, despite it being nothing of a life at all. The past two years I've been getting up each morning, thinking when will it happen? When is my chance to escape all of this? Then James took our ship." And maybe he's told more than he wanted to. Usually he's more along the lines of honesty calls for more lies. But, maybe, he wanted to get this off his soul too.

 

Flint dreams again that night. In her house.

Flint sees his reflection in the mirror. He already looks as hardened and battered as he does now, where everything around him is as beautiful and pristine as ever.

"Where are you going?" Thomas asks.

"I need to get the Urca gold."

"No, you need silver." Thomas replies.

 

As they ride back to town, they pass a few playing children, singing a nursery rhyme.

"One for sorrow, two for joy. Three for a girl, four for a boy. Five for silver, six for gold. Seven for a secret never to be told."

*

"The captain appreciates your support, more than he's able to say. You know, being in command is never easy and sometimes he feels, like he's failed you in some ways."

Big eyes and appreciative nods from the crew.

Flint gets the dark feeling that Silver wasn't as scared of the crew as he pretended to be, that maybe Silver was just trying to insinuate himself into another piece of Flint's life where he had absolutely no business being.

Flint grabs him by the arm, pulling him away.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Establishing a better image for you? You're welcome."

"You know what, your chances of me killing you once we've found the gold have just increased from likely to dead certain."

"Hello?! I help you and all that spawns in your completely fucked-up brain is the fabulous idea to kill me?! If you kill all the people who try to help you, it's absolutely no surprise why you have zero friends!"

"I don't have to listen to this." Flint shoves him away hard enough that he nearly topples over. "We set sail before nightfall."

*

Their last talk on firm ground notwithstanding, things settle back into the grudging acceptance and banter they'd managed to achieve, as soon as they've set sail.

*

Silver looks at the storm that seems to be following at their heel since they set sail.

"Wow, we're not even on the sea for more than one day and already I regret this."

"Feel free to jump off the way you went the last time." Flint tells him jovially.

*

"What is it now, Silver?! If someone died of food-poisoning, just throw them over the railing!"

"That's exactly the kind of talk that gets you into trouble."

*

"So, the Urca gold. What do you plan to spend it on?"

"I'm not discussing that with you. Turn the fucking candle off before you set the beddings on fire."

"Ah, I see, so you're going to spend it all on rum and candy."

"I don't even like candy that much."

"Just rum, then."

"That would be one hell of a lot of rum. What you're going to spend it on, Silver?"

"Given that you don't kill me once we find the gold?" Silver smirks.

"Given that I don't kill you." Flint agrees.

"Don't know. Buy all the sugarcane fields in the Bahamas and destroy your dream." Silver smiles lazily, brushing the fountain of curls that had again spilled over his face, back.

"It would take a little more than the absence of rum to destroy my dreams."

*

Silver straddles him, as if they'd years of close, personal rapport to build on, leaning in far too close again, both hands palming Flint's face. Flint can feel his breath against his lips as he begins to talk in a whisper.

"Not trying to alarm you or anything, but I heard some of the men talk about bringing a premature end to your captaincy. And I mean not in the sense of casting another vote."

"And you couldn't have told me this in a less compromising position?"

"Is that seriously all you have to say on this matter?!" Silver says a lot louder, sitting up straight. The friction he causes on Flint's lap could make this situation a lot more compromising. Silver seems oblivious to the reaction he elicited, in his righteous indignation. Flint grabs his hips with both hands to prevent him from further unanticipated movement.

"No, that is certainly not all I have to say on that matter. At the same time I have to seriously question myself why you deemed it necessary to crawl onto my lap for breaching the subject."

"So, it obviously is all you have to say on that matter!"

"Ooh, trouble in paradise." The men have gotten bolder over the past days.

Flint lifts Silver off his lap. He throws one scorching look at his crew, before he walks towards his cabin.

"Come on."

He tries to blend out the hooting that follows him. While at the same time he thinks how different the reaction would have been, had this scene played out on a ship of the Royal Navy. To even imagine Thomas and he had shown such a level of intimacy in public. It's an entirely different world here. A world in which him and Thomas would have been possible. It is sadly fitting that this world Thomas was trying to protect, would have protected him in turn. If only...

Silver is already waiting for him in the cabin, impatiently tapping one foot on the floor. At some point in his revery, the other man must have passed him.

"You got one hell of a nerve!" They say at the exact same time.

Flint has a lot of things to say to Silver. He just kisses him. Grabs for a handful of black curls and kisses him. Silver moves into him, a mewling sound escaping his lips. Flint pushes him against the wall, Silver let's out a rush of air, blue eyes looking surprised for a moment, then he wraps his legs around Flint's waist, his arms going around Flint's neck as he kisses him again.

*

"What did you do?!" He doesn't even wait for Silver to get off his chair, just hurls him off, dragging the chair on, until it hits the ground.

Silver's head painfully hits the wall, as a knife presses to his throat.

"Is this supposed to be a reenactment of our best moments?" Silver asks.

"You are going to give me the Urca schedule right now, or I will not be held responsible for what happens to you next!"

"What's the fucking matter with you?!"

"Miranda gave me a letter, before we set sail. I read it today. Can you perchance imagine what she would have had to say?" The smile is the deadliest he's ever seen on Flint.

"No." Silver states very distinctly. "Why would I?" He has a bad feeling he knows why, though.

Flint starts reciting in a fake jovial tone.

"On behalf of our new friend, James, I told him about Thomas. He had figured most of it out himself anyway."

Silver pales and tries to refrain from swallowing against the ever-more-insistent press of the blade.

"I did not– I will not– I wasn't–"

"Trying to snoop into my life, find things to use against me, so you could mock me?!"

"I– why would I mock you?! I thought we'd established that I really don't–"

"Were you suitably entertained by how they sent Thomas to the asylum for loving a man?! How we lost everything because of our love! Was it detailed enough to fullfill your curiosity?! How we had to flee the city in disgrace, leaving behind our lives and Thomas! Miranda is a great storyteller, I'm sure it was!"

"I didn't know all this." Silver says softly. "I only knew he died, under deplorable circumstances. And that it made you whatever you are now."

Flint looks stricken.

"I–" Silver starts again. "I was curious, that much is true. But, why would I take pleasure in your misfortune? I thought we were past the point of trying to exploit the weaknesses of the other. We could be a good team, if you'd let us."

"You would say anything to save your pathetic, little life."

"That much is certainly true. But who wouldn't? No matter how pathetic and little the life is. I'm not ashamed of wanting to live. And you shouldn't be either. But you are. You pretend to be a monster. You pretend you don't need love. You pretend you can live of your revenge alone. You can't! I know they say, once burned, twice shy. But, you know, sometimes people want to know you without the single goal of trying to hurt you."

"Some people maybe. Not you. I might not like you, but I thought, at least he's honest, doesn't pretend he's out for anything except his own gain. But, right now, you just disgust me."

"Fine, don't believe me. But you don't seriously think I will give you the rest of the schedule so you can kill me afterwards."

Flint gives him a glare that tells Silver that so far, he had never been really pissed-off at him.

The blade of the knife, that has been pressed to his throat for so long it is no longer cool to the touch, is removed.

"Fine, tell me when you please, Mr. Silver. But before any of my personal history finds it's way to the men, you should keep in mind that you won't need your tongue to write down the remainder of the schedule."

"Duly noted."

Flint turns to leave the cabin, when Silver instead of complimenting himself on having turned around this epic miscalculation, makes a rather rash decision.

"I will give it to you. So you believe me. So you believe I intended no harm. I will give you the rest of the schedule now." Before the resolve leaves him, he sits down grabs a sheet of paper and a quill and starts writing.

When he's done, Flint is still staring at him like he's seen a ghost.

Silver stands up and watches as Flint reads the schedule and compares it to some calculations he's obviously made himself. Then he turns around and settles down to sleep. There's nothing more he can do on this side. And it seems obvious that Flint isn't going to kill him tonight.

 

Flint doesn't settle down to sleep. Not for a long time. He watches Silver, as his breaths even out. Watches him, hand still clenched around the schedule. Deep into the early hours of the morning, he takes out Miranda's letter and reads it again.

'On behalf of our new friend, James, give him a chance. Give yourself a chance. He wants to know you. And I don't think he will use this knowledge to hurt you. Paths don't always cross for the right reasons. That doesn't mean the reason for staying on the same one, must be too. You are afraid to trust him, despite so obviously wanting to. I'm not dewy-eyed in this, you should know that. We've both been through too much for either of us to muster even the pretense of it. But have you never thought that he is hiding too, under that attitude of his? That he too is afraid to get hurt. You can't give him only half of you and expect him to stay with you. But maybe that's what you're hoping for, so you can return to your self-imposed misery. I don't want that to happen. I told him about Thomas. He had figured most of it out himself anyway. And he shouldn't have had to. And maybe that is exactly the reason you brought him to our house, because you knew he would find out what you couldn't say. I've met him only once and even I could tell. Thomas told me to look after you. And I will.'

*

"Maybe I should just tell them now." Flint says, basically just to challenge him, to watch him squirm.

"About how you lied to them." Silver deadpans.

"Oh, I lie to them all the time. They expect nothing less. They won't mutiny over a small detail like that."

"So, you'd just throw me to the wolves? Let them maul me?"

Silver does actually look hurt now.

Flint hears his own voice soften. "No, I'm not going to do that. You're going to get off this ship in one piece. And out off my life." Oh, for fuck's sake, there go all his resolutions. Hell, he'd probably let him stay on the ship, at this point, if he wanted to. Which he won't. And that's that.

Silver just watches him intently. And Flint tries not to squirm.

It wouldn't be to do him a favor, if he'd let him stay, but to do himself a favor. Because honestly, he doesn't want him to leave. The thing the crew doesn't know is that most of the times Flint lies to himself just as much as he does to them, but in this case he allows himself this small acknowledgment. And it's foolish to place trust in someone for something like... But yesterday's actions weren't in Silver's favor, in no way. Except if it was the most daring ploy Flint's seen performed in his whole life. And, yes, that's probably been it. And with this simple assertion Flint's world makes sense again.

*

Flint barely dares to fall asleep by now. He hasn't dreamed that often of Thomas in years.

And everytime Silver's there. Having tea with Thomas. Sitting in the background of one of their salons. Breaking Thomas out of Bedlam.

One time Flint finds Silver's ripped out the first page of Meditations. Seemingly he's burned the page.

"Don't worry," Silver tells him. "I learned it by heart. If you forget, I can tell you."

Each time, he wakes up, not with a start, breathing heavy, as his nightmares had him for so many years, but mellow and drowsy. And each time it further kindles a rising panic inside him.

*

Silver quickly realises that time for regretting this hadn't really come until Billy goes overboard during the storm.

"Remember what I said about mutiny earlier? I think your chances have just moved from likely to dead certain, to use your words." Silver graces him with his usual well-isn't-all-this-fortunate smile. " And it's not like Billy could speak in your favor."

"I didn't fucking push him!"

"You didn't? Come on, you can tell me."

"Why the fuck would I trust you of all people?! What the hell makes you think we have any form of trust to draw from?!"

Silver smiles broadly at him.

"I'm not judging. Anyone, really. Also, you fucked me."

*

But as it turns out the mutiny doesn't come until they're almost already in battle with a motherfucking Spanish Man O' War. But, well, things don't turn out so bad. Well, the Walrus is destroyed and the Ranger is missing, but, hey, they're all still alive.

Silver licks a sheen of salt off his lips, looking at the cause of all this, who's still out cold in the sand. And people say he's high maintenance. Well, if he can spin things the right way, they might both get out of this alive.

 

Flint opens his eyes to blurriness and sun. And Silver.

"You shit." He groans.

"There he is." Silver smiles at him approvingly, crouching down in front of him, even going so far as dusting a little sand out of his hair.

Flint would really like to punch him, or at least bite his hand, but right now he feels more like throwing up. And why exactly is he pissed-off at Silver right now? Is there even a reason? Except that he'd like to fuck him again. Or maybe take him to visit Miranda again. And also– those curls look so soft. He feels his hand reach out. Oh Jesus! He's really swallowed too much sea-water.

*

Flint's gotten himself at least partly back together and stopped thinking about why his mind seemingly started to plan spending the rest of his life with Silver, when he sees the men approach. Alright, maybe planning the rest of his life with Silver won't be such a time consuming activity after all.

Logan angrily walks towards him. "You know we didn't want to listen to Dufresne when he first came to us. We accepted the thing with Singleton and all your other lies, but Billy!"

Flint watches as Silver steps in front of him.

"Now, why don't we all calm down."

"Don't worry, John." Logan says. "We know you had nothing to do with this. You're a good man."

Okay, Flint decides. Maybe he has in fact died and already gone to hell.

 

"What the fuck was that?!" Flint turns to Silver accusingly, pain sparking through his shoulder at the sudden jolt.

"They like me." Silver shrugs apologetically.

"How the fuck could they?!"

"How the fuck not? You like me."

"I– I certainly don't!" Even to himself Flint sounds a little desperate. But, no. He has no interest in John Silver. John has no interest in him. And shall also furthermore be only referred to as 'Silver'. Life is good. Everything is going as planned. Yes. Now all he has to do is take that Man O' War. He can do that. With Silver. Oh, for fuck's sake!

"Why on earth did you volunteer?!"

Silver grimaces apologetically.

"It really didn't look like anyone else was going to." And then he immediately ups his smile again, turning it back to full force, like he hasn't just credited him with the complete loss of faith in his everything.

*

"My name is John Silver, this is James McGraw and we're deserters from the Royal Navy on our way to Nassau to start a life there together without the repercussions of a judgemental and narrow-minded society."

Flint is not completely sure, but he suspects that he's just had a stroke.

"What?" The watch-commander asks.

"You know, have you never found that a society who extinguishes every spawn of something new and different really also kills every potential to better itself, to rise to new challenges?"

"Ehh...Yes, I guess so."

"I knew I was talking to a reasonable man. If Galileo Galilei had lived today, do you know what he would have done? He would have gone to Nassau. Because there, pursuit of your dreams and free speech still mean something."

"He would?"

"Yes! Why, yes, of course he would have. Which brings me to the question what you are doing here, my friends."

"We're here to escort a ship, but she got wrecked on the shore here during the storm." 

It's obvious that the man didn't intend to say that.

"It's alright. You can speak freely here. Who are we supposed to tell about this? We're all alone here. Our original ship got wrecked on the other side of the island two weeks ago and then our entire crew fell victim to some disease. The Lord alone knows what. The last one died this morning. Poor fucker was so gone in his mind, he tried to shoot James here, because he thought we were in cahoots with the devil because we didn't get sick. But I have to tell you, I'm not feeling too good myself since I woke up this morning. You don't by chance have a doctor aboard, do you? I mean, how lethal can it be really, I'm sure there's something to be done about it."

The man in command turns to the others. "Untie them, get them out of here. Row them away from the shore and then shoot them and throw them into the sea. The last thing we need is an epidemy on the island. This had to happen on my watch. Fuck! And then we also have to take care of the corpses on the island. Of all the fucking islands in the Carribean, we have to get wrecked on the one with the plague."

The men seem a little bit scared to touch them, one of them not even daring to breathe in their direction. Silver coughs for good measure.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I'll do it myself!" The man in command approaches them, cutting the ties holding Silver to the chair. Silver breaks his attention for a moment by coughing blood in his face (after having bitten his cheek moments before). That's all the time he needs to get the knife the man was holding to his throat.

"If you want to keep your commander alive, you better do as I say. Untie him."

Once one of the men has cut Flint's ties, Flint headbutts him, takes his gun and with it shoots the third man. Then he turns to Silver.

"Kill him."

"What? Right now?"

"Would you rather wait for five more minutes?"

"You mean, myself? With the knife?"

The commander takes his chance, twists out of Silver's hold and regains possession of the knife. Now holding it to Silver's throat. 

"Drop your gun, if you want him to live."

Flint feels disconcerted by the feeling of anger that wells up in him at seeing the fine red line welling up on Silver's throat, where the knife presses in too hard.

"Silver, you are a pain in the ass. Seriously, I asked one simple thing of you."

"Hey, I said drop your gun!"

"And I heard you the first time. But, let's be realistic here, the moment I drop my gun, he is dead and I will be too, as soon as you have a free hand again, to reach for your gun, unless, I can pick mine up fast enough to shoot you, before you've pulled out yours. So, why don't we discuss this like reasonable people, so maybe this can end with neither of us dead?"

"Wow," Silver says. "you didn't even consider shooting him in the face while risking hitting me. I'm so touched. Also, we should probably take into account the fact that I lied before and we are in fact pirates, which brings me to point of pointing out that the rest of our crew is just now boarding the ship, which you should maybe take into consideration."

"You're lying."

"If you'd please, out there through the window you can, as a matter of fact, see them climb up the ship's hull right this moment."

If there's something Silver knows about people it's that it's practically compulsive to look in a situation like this. No matter how improbable, they will always automatically turn to look. He takes that moment to try his own proficiency with a headbutt. It hurts mostly and he feels like the blade might have cut in a little deeper, but at least they're both on the ground, scrambling for purchase of the ever-owner-switching knife. Okay, no. Fist-fights are definitely not his cup of tea and also that guy is driping blood all over him from his nose, so, at least he hit him. But the fight is ever-so-much turning in distinctly not his favor. Then a lot more blood splatters onto him and the Spaniard is gone, replaced by another body on top of him.

"What the fuck was that?!" 

Flint's hands reach for his throat and in the first instant Silver thinks he wants to strangle him, but then he realises he's in fact looking at the cut from the knife.

"It's not so deep." Flint murmurs mostly to himself. "What were you doing?" Flint asks again, a little softer, wiping both blood and sticky strands of hair out of Silver's face.

"I was cleaning up my own mess? I'm not completely helpless, as you could see."

Flint laughs at that, in a way that makes him look a lot younger.

"Yes, I could see that." He wipes once more, futilely at Silver's face, before he leans down and kisses him.

"Oh, so you're not actually mad at me–" Silver mumbles between the kiss.

"No, I'm not actually mad at you." Flint is perched on both forearms on either side of Silver's face, closer even than before, as he resumes kissing him, unperturbed by the blood that's still all over Silver's face. "I'm a lot mad at you. Later."

"Not that I don't enjoy this, but there are, as matter of fact, no members of our crew climbing up the hull right now, so we should maybe consider how we intend to defend ourselves until they do."

*

"You know, a simple thank you would have sufficed. 'Thank you, Silver, for again and again putting both your time and your physical integrity on the line for preventing me from dying in my own badly thought-out plans. Even though I don't mention it enough, your sacrifice goes in no way unnoticed or unappreciated.'"

Completely unanticipated Flint turns around, taking Silver's face in his hands. "Thank you, John, for being an insufferable shit, for worming your way into my crew, my life and my head. Thank you for your entirely unasked-for interventions in my private life. Thank you for being annoying at your best times, knowing absolutely no individual distance and having insufferable sleeping habits. Thank you for actually being there when I needed you, despite me not having believed it if someone had told me so earlier. Thank you for actually still being there."

*

The next morning the Ranger takes anchor in the bay, looking a lot less battered than the Walrus (which isn't that hard at this point). Flint warily watches as Gates enters the shore and is greeted by the other men, lead by Dufresne.

Half an hour later the men make their way towards them, faces set in determination. Dufresne staying behind with Gates.

"Captain, we're so sorry!" Logan exclaims. "Mr. Gates told us everything. He fished Billy out of the sea. Billy told him that it was an accident and how you tried to save him!"

*

"Well, I guess, once we have the gold... there won't be much reason for you to stay..."

"So it would seem." 

Flint blames it on his vivid imagination that Silver doesn't seem very content at the prospect. Maybe he likes seafaring now, maybe he likes the crew.

"No need to keep this charade up anylonger, now that the crew likes you." He continues off-kilter.

"They've actually liked me for quite a while now." Silver points out.

"Wait, what?"

That moment they become aware of the commotion behind them. As they turn around, from their seeming seclusion, they look into many sets of very questioning and very alarmed eyes.

"So, Captain, this was all a scam?" Billy points between the two of them.

Silver looks between Flint and the crew. "Not scam exactly. It was more of a–"

Flint kisses him.

*

Hal Gates never considered himself much of a schemer, his larger goal in life had always been to just get him and the people close to him by. But this time, he thought he might have actually outdone himself.  
He hadn't liked Silver. But he knew an opportunity where he saw one. He didn't know much about James' past, but he wasn't blind and he'd seen James wallow away for the past years. Where he'd never been the life of the party to begin with, things had turned to an alarming downwards spiral. James probably didn't even consider him a friend, but besides Billy, James was the closest Gates had to a family. He hadn't expected everything to work out quite that well though.

Gates leans back against the railing with a contented smile and watches Billy, who is still staring at Flint and Silver with a expression of rapt attention, looking moved to tears.

*

Happiness hit him like a bullet in the back  
Shot from a great height, by someone who should have known better than that

(Florence & The Machine - The dog days are over)


End file.
